


Save your breath

by notmydiagnosis



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, mentions of domestic abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 09:51:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6074740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notmydiagnosis/pseuds/notmydiagnosis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Eddie?” He stopped. Her eyes bore into his back, but he didn’t make a move to turn around. Swallowing dryly, Harley smiled cautiously so as not to open the stitches on her lower lip, “Don’t I get a goodnight kiss?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Save your breath

**Author's Note:**

> I made the wonderful mistake of reading Gotham City Sirens, and now these two are all I can think about.  
> I hope you enjoy it, and please feel free to point out any mistakes.

A heavy sigh escaped her as she attempted to turn around yet again, guessing it was around three in the morning judging by the inclination of the full moon over the cell window. Under normal circumstances she would have been fast asleep by now. However, as is often the case in Gotham, the current situation was anything but normal, mostly down to three particular factors. Firstly, she tended to prefer absolute darkness, and the moonlight cast in bars on her bed was bright enough to delay the sandman’s arrival. A slight hold-up wasn’t such a terrible thing, of course, as long as she did eventually fall asleep.

And fall asleep she did. The problem was _staying_ asleep, and that’s where the second factor came into play: her arm was broken, bandaged up and smothered in plaster, and every time she so much as breathed onto her left side a shooting pain would jolt her awake and the cycle would start anew.

Harley didn’t feel like convincing her brain of the advantages of resting just to wake up again in five minutes, so she entertained herself by gazing out her window and waiting for exhaustion to decide what to do with her. It was the dead of night, and the one guard who was brave – or desperate – enough to take on the night patrol would be on the other wing of the asylum. Arkham had always been lax in switching up routines, and so most of the inmates knew by heart the times at which someone was strolling past their door and when they were left to themselves. Which brought her to irregular circumstance number three: she wasn’t alone.

“You shouldn’t go round sneakin’ into ladies’ boudoirs.”

“Good evening to you too, Miss Quinn.” The smooth voice was accompanied by light steps and the distinctive tapping of a metal cane. Eddie’s red hair stood dark under his hat in the pale moonlight, and his fair skin shone white in an all-too familiar way that made her want to look elsewhere.

Instead she focused on his eyes, particularly on how bare the area around them was. Eddie wasn’t sporting his mask, which could only mean that this was a social call and nothing to do with business. The possibility made her feel marginally better. “You know, visiting hours ended a while ago.”

Despite a studied show of nonchalance, he couldn’t help but crack a small lopsided smirk, “Knowing you, I’d say your visiting privileges were revoked the first day you got here.” He crossed the rest of the cell in long strides, maneuvering a stool towards her cot with his foot. His light hair took on a silvery shade when he finally placed his hat on the little wooden commode serving as a bedside table, and Harley exhaled a sigh of relief. That was short-lived, however. Once he sat down, Eddie lost no time in looking her over, and the distaste was plain even at night, “So this is the latest of his handiwork.”

Harley followed his line of sight, though she already knew what she’d find. A broken arm, a swollen lip and god knows how many bruises. But so what? It was all part of the job description in her line of work. “If you came here to lecture me, save your breath. Red’s already given me an earful.” She would have crossed her arms and _‘hmph’d_ to emphasise her point, if only it didn’t hurt so damn much to do so. As it was, she resigned herself to simply scowling at him.

“And he gave you an eyeful.” 

She didn’t have to look up to know that he was staring disapprovingly at her black eye. “Yeah well, you know what they say. Couples who argue together stay together.”

Eddie raised his eyebrows in mock surprise, as if what she’d just said cleared all of his reservations away. He even mouthed a comprehensive _‘ah’_ and Harley wanted nothing more than to shove his face in the dirt at that moment. “Yet here you are, and where is _he?_ ”

Harley did turn her face away smugly this time, self-assured in her convictions and drawing out her words with childish confidence, “Youuuuu’ll see, I'll betcha he’s plannin' my break out juuust as we speak.”

“He’s not. And he won’t.” Eddie was clearly in no mood to entertain her delusions, and the skin around his eyes wrinkled as he scrunched up his face in incredulity, “He didn’t even fight for you, he just left you there for Batman to collect.”

“Shows how little you know, buster. Mr J’s fought over me plenty.” 

“ _Over_ you, yes, like a child fights over his toys. He’s possessive, I’ll give you that.” He leaned back, looking at the wall beside her as if it held the solution to a particularly complicated riddle, “But that’s not love.” 

He could sense her stiffening next to him, her voice devoid of its usual pep as she realised where this was going, “What do _you_ know about love?” 

His eyes narrowed imperceptibly before he tilted his chin haughtily, “A lot more than you do, it seems. You see… _I_ know that you don’t push someone out of a window if you love them. _I_ know you don’t stick someone you love in a rocket and try to blow them to kingdom come. _I_ know—”

“You know, you know, you don’t know nothing!” Harley snapped as she sprung forward into a straighter sitting position, ignoring the pain in her spine. She’d heard it all before, and she was in no mood to have it thrown at her by the _Riddler_ of all people. Remembering where she was and how thin the walls were, she all but spat through clenched teeth, “You don’t know anything, you have no idea clue. You snoop and you judge but you don’t _know_ \--”

“You think I don't know?" Edward couldn't help but raise his voice. He was sure she had been about to tell him exactly how much she loved her clown, and he didn’t want to hear it. She was being unreasonable, as she always was when that maniac was involved, but what bothered him most was how utterly unfair her assessment of him was. "You think I don't know what it's like? This might come as a shock to you, Harleen, but I have a heart too.”

“And what good is that? You’re a narcissist, Eddie.” The implication was enough to stun him into silence. Maybe her brain hadn’t caught up with her mouth yet, because her eyes widened and softened as soon those words left her lips. Almost like an after-thought, she added softly, with a tone that should have hammered the final nail into the coffin and sent him packing, “Start acting like it.”

Silence settled between them for what seemed like an eternity. Harley stared up at the ceiling counting the cracks and trying her hardest not to see freckles in each spot. Eddie looked down at his hands, resting so close to her yet tense with resentment. Finally his strained voice broke the uncomfortable calm, “You want to know what I think?”

She sighed, eyes closed and leaning her head on the wall, “No. That’s your problem, you think too much. Just… just go. You can’t help me.”

“I know.” The corner of his mouth twitched without his consent. She’d just complained about him presuming to know it all, yet here he was repeating it. Perhaps there was more truth in her accusations than he allowed. “There’s no helping you, Miss Quinn. You love him. You’re as doomed as can be.”

Harley slowly opened her eyes and snorted, the side of her temple still pressed against the rough surface, “Well, ain’t that what loves does? Doom ya? Make you do stupid things with no regard for yourself?”

Edward paused. He paused and he thought of the way he'd taken into Arkham, of the intricate plan he’d put together less than an hour after hearing of her admittance to the asylum. He thought of how to get back out without arousing suspicions, and ignored the fact that he had very foolishly failed to prepare for that. “Yes. Indeed it is.”

The thick silence returned, but this time it was much more short-lived. Eddie got up with practiced elegance, pulling his green trench coat over his shoulders and retrieving his hat. The light steps and metallic clink soon followed, and Harley tried not to choke on the lump in her throat.

“Eddie?” He stopped. Her eyes bore into his back, but he didn’t make a move to turn around. Swallowing dryly, Harley smiled cautiously so as not to open the stitches on her lower lip, “Don’t I get a goodnight kiss?”

He still didn’t face her, though she could imagine his features moving. He might have smiled, or he might have grimaced. “I wish you a speedy recovery, Miss Quinn.” 

Then he was gone and she was alone.


End file.
